


Lies and Love

by buckybarnesplumwhore



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Bucky barnes x reader - Freeform, F/M, bucky barnes x black!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24659878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybarnesplumwhore/pseuds/buckybarnesplumwhore
Summary: Imagine you’re married but you’re cheating with Bucky, and you can’t stop seeing him.
Relationships: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Lies and Love

**Author's Note:**

> I sent a tumblr page named harryspet an anon stating "imagine you’re married but you’re cheating with Bucky, and you can’t stop seeing him." and I decided to expand on it.  
> do not repost my works!  
> TRIGGER WARNING: mention of suicide

The mournful croon of Plant hails in this hole in the wall, the gritty bar was drowned in the blurry hues of rich carmine, and foggy lingers of cigarette smoke. 

It was rather empty tonight, only a few burly biker patrons mulling over a couple of pints or shooting pool.

You arrived tonight to the establishment that weighs aching familiarity on your heart - both in waves of pleasure and self-loathing. 

Your chest tightened as flashes of your husband’s weary smile as you left your home — uttered a lie to soothe him that you were meeting up with your best friend, Carol - in actuality to meet up with your lover.

Jesus - what a mess.

You sulked over Bucky’s last text message, his desperate words replaying in your head.

Meet me at Lang’s tonight. I need you, doll.

The unexpected late night text jolted your nerves, quickly deleting it, in an iron-grip to your chest, cautious from peering eyes of your doting spouse.

Like a dog loyal to it’s owner, you fled to Lang’s, with hope swelling in your heart. No matter what, you could never stop seeing him.

Oh my sweet John, how you don’t deserve this pain.

Two weeks of radio silence. The last tryst you had with Bucky ended on a sour note. A fight in his car as he begged you to divorce your husband, but selfishly, you weren’t ready.

To leave John high and dry, with his heart in your palm, to live your happily ever after?

You couldn’t do it anymore, your mind swelled with confusing conflict, so you suggested at least temporary separation from Bucky, so you could sort out your life.

He didn’t take it well. He lashed out at you masking his heart-break with his ego. Accused you of being a slumming slut out to break hearts. Bucky couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving his life, as if he meant nothing. So he did what he knew best – tear his loved ones down, and push em’ away.

A few harsh words were exchanged, you felt like a cheap whore walking back home past midnight, as the stench of another man penetrated your skin - invading your humble a bode.

John was the kindest soul, your high-school sweetheart. You and John were praised as the perfect couple by close peers, and hovering families.

What you thought would be ever-lasting love, was a beautiful moment in time.

A chapter which was coming to it’s end.

Crashing and burning to it’s finality, with you as the devil behind the bloodied wheel.

A shaky breath escapes you, as you sat at the bar, shoulders slumped, constantly checking the ticking clock.

He’s not gonna show. He’s just doing this to humiliate me. The cheating wife stood up by her lover. What a fucking joke.

You swung your lengthened box braids over your shoulder, shifting in your baggy jean jacket, to retrieve a pack of smokes. You sniffled, just wait for two more minutes, finish your drink, head back home, and learn to be a real wife.

It’s these moments that you despise the most, the waiting. The abided time provides a reality check, a sear in the high of chaos. It breaks your heart, swelling with self-deprecation, – ready to combust in your shattered chest.

Your nose scrunches, your eyes tightly closed as you picture John’s doe-eyed smile, his unsuspecting trust. In a flash, you down the vodka, the burn sharply cuts your throat raw garnering a jagged grunt.

Lately John has been a man of a few words, once a vibrant sunshine on two legs has dimmed over time. Is it you?

You knew him like the back of your hand, his faults, and insecurities charred in your being, loved John since you were fourteen.

But you’re not that docile tyke anymore, when beauty pageants dominated your world. Shiny high-end ponytails whips to woo, and glossed lips pucker air kisses for John at prep-rallies, as you led the cheer squad to rile the audience in victorious cheers.

The queen and king of the prom, Barbie and Ken with the melanin.

It seems as if that girl has been dead for years, a renewed being resuscitated from the grave by the salacious touch of Bucky.

As you crawl out of your grave, you dig a new fresh one for John. He’s aura is now shimmers of blue, sunken smiles, and dull eyes. Fuck - does he know? That you force a smile at his family gatherings, that your hugs are shallow, at night you dream with a smile not for him — can he sense that your ‘I love you’ is meant for another?

Does he know you’re happy with someone else?

You slither a cigarette out of it’s torn box with a sniffle, the polish of your deep crimson nails beam in contrast with the bar’s lightening. Plucking the tip gingerly between your teeth, your palms scurry for your lighter.

Digging in your jacket pockets, no luck. With the agitated roll of your eyes, you forgot it back home.

A glimmer of fiery orange flicker with a spark, awaiting in-front of your dangling smoke.

He’s here.

With a indiscernible glare, you accepted the lit offer. Bucky’s cerulean orbs bore into your soul, as your fingertips softly cling to Bucky’s extended hand, goosebumps littered his flesh. Not once wavering your eyes away from his, both of your resolves crumbling to ashes. Your hurt from his bruising words from two weeks ago dissolves, and his anger simmers to adoration.

“Hey Buck, what are ya’ having?” Hope, Lang’s long-time girlfriend, and an close friend of Bucky’s inner circle, beams with a curled smirk.

Fully aware of your relationship with Bucky, she could tell you were gonna cave for Bucky. Witnessing you waltz in tonight with slumped shoulders, and a glum smile, along with not appearing for two weeks — she knew a little spat happened between Bucky and yourself.

Bucky’s close friends – well more in the spectrum of family, brothers and sisters in arms, didn’t know of the full extent of your relationship with Bucky. All supported your love, and even joked when is the wedding date — oh if only they knew.

“The usual, a beer.” Bucky’s spoke to Hope, but his steel eyes were focused on yours.

“Coming right up” Hope left to fetch Bucky a beer, as he slowly sat down on the stool next to you. This intense staring contest was seeping to your core.

“How you been?” You whispered, afraid if you spoke a pitch higher, your voice would crack under pressure.

A beat of silence, Bucky kept memorizing your features, the slope of your button nose, your plump cheeks, your buttery smooth bronze skin – how your subtle flesh squishes between his calloused fingers.

“Shitty.” Bucky’s hoarse growl made your pussy flinch, already dreaming of the delicious burn of his beard between your thighs. Your gaze dropped to your palms, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. “Mines too.” You couldn’t bare to look him in the eye, the guilt of stringing two great men.

Hope plopped the beer next to Bucky, and quickly dashed away to give you two privacy.

“Look at me.” You winced at Bucky’s soft demand, a huff of frustration seeped through Bucky’s nose, “I said fucking look at me.” A stern shift in his tone.

Your eyes peered through your spider-legged lashes, watery at the brim, your face still bowed in submission.

Bucky’s finger lifted your head up, the tip underneath your chin. His palm opened to engulf your jaw, you instinctively leaned into his warm touch.

“God, you’re so beautiful” Bucky’s thumb caressing your cheek. “I’m so sorry for what I said” Bucky’s voice barred remorse. Your head shook no in defiance.

He had no fault, no need to apologize when you’re in the wrong, when you have to parade around with a wedding ring that meant nothing to you – but mock and shaffe your undying love for Bucky.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything, you were right. I am a whore–” Bucky’s lips crashed on yours, passionate and fiery. Harsh but loving, silencing your self-guilt. Palming your face both of his strong hands.

Tongues tangoing in your mouths, and low moans rippling in your throats. Savoring the bitter liquor intermixing with your natural dew, and the nicotine that coated Bucky’s pink lips.

A lone tear trickled down your cheek, dropping on the tip of thumb, crashing with Bucky’s droplet.

God, how he has missed you.

Separating to catch a breath, you swiped his tear away, and Bucky mimicking your action.

His forehead tilt on yours, “I missed you, fuck –”, Bucky sweetly places a kiss on your forehead, lingering, “I can’t live without you. For two weeks, you were on my mind” he spoke against your hairline, his warm breath tickling your scalp.

You crushed your lit smoke into a stub in the nearby ashtray at the near end of the bar.

“I’m sorry, baby. I hurt you, and made you cry” Bucky’s small sniffles broke your heart, “I just can’t stand the thought of him touching you” Bucky’s quivered, his chin wobbled a bit.

Right on cue, Lennon’s somber lyrics infiltrated the air. Lulling apologizes for his jealously and insecurities for the woman he loves.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry” you shushed Bucky’s apologetic rambling, peppering kisses on his face. “I will make up for it for the rest of my days. Even when I can only have you at night” Bucky’s nose brushed the terrain of your cheekbones, trailing downward for your weak spot – your pulse point.

“No–you will have me in the morning, at noon, and at night. I’m leaving him, and we can be together forever” saccharine promises slip from your lips.

“Don’t do that baby. I know you car–” cutting off Bucky’s protest, you smashed your lips back on his.

“I do care for John, but I’m in love you. I don’t want to be Mrs. White, I haven’t been that woman in years” you wiggled the tip of your nose against Bucky’s, earning a huffed giggle from him.

“I want to be Mrs. Barnes, and have all your rugrats. Grow old with each other–” Bucky’s kissed you, deeply, his paws never letting go of your face.

Moaning, your dainty hands gripped the chill leather of his jacket, bundling between your fingers, pulling him to you.

“I already got the divorce papers, then when it’s finalized, we can get married. I only want you, I need you, Bucky.” His breath hitched, a sob almost leaving him, tumbles in your ears.

Bucky Barnes, a tough bristled biker, cut from the cloth of leather, and pain. A life of tragedies, and bullet ridden. You’re the only beacon of life for him, a gift from God. He questions if he’s deserving of you.

A roguish grin is plastered on Bucky’s chiseled jaw, lips still slick with your feverish kisses, “Fuck like minxs, raise rugrats, and live happily ever after” he gloated.

You snickered, as your fingers search safety in his buzz-cut, his chestnut fuzzy dome is soft to the touch.

“Promise you will never forget me. I get scared that every-time you leave my bed, you won’t come back. Be gentle with me, I’m battered” Bucky’s broken colloquy stabbed you deeply in the chest.

I’m sorry John, but Bucky is the one I want to nurse, bathe in my love. Be happy John, cause I got my happiness right here.

“I promise you, just like you have my heart, I will take care of yours” Your lips ghosted Bucky’s, “I love you”, Bucky removed his right palm from you, the chilled air battling his fleeting warmth.

Your brows furrowed at the lack of touch, Bucky’s smirked, his fingers fumbling with your left palm. His thumb and middle finger rubbing your barren wedding finger.

Lifting the toyed finger to hips lips, “Mine. Forever. I’ll even get you a better ring too” you rolled yours eyes playfully, cocky bastard.

A broken cough was heard from the far end of the bar, a man hidden in a hefty trench coat. You paid it no mind, too busy drowning in Bucky’s ocean eyes. Waves of the unruly pacific roars, a bright future stirred with a sense of calm. Peace.

As small kisses and carefree chuckles commenced, a tumbling stranger bolts out the door in a rush.

***

You arrived home around four a.m.

It was eerily quiet, a sixth sense of emptyiness. A wave of absence, it was foreign to you. You couldn’t understand why your home felt … devoid of life.

“John?” You called out, you quickly dug in your pocket for your wedding ring, with swiftness you swooped your finger in the golden band.

Look presentable.

Another wave of anxiety hit you. You knew John, even if you weren’t in love with him, you still loved him. You could never forget first love.

John’s not here, but he has to be.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trapping it between teeth as you, strided up the stairway. You hands began to damp, a bead of sweat at your brow. “John, baby are you awake?”

Of course, he’s asleep. It’s four in the morning — so why does your gut churn at the unknown. The air is stiff, as your feet took small steps on the carpeted floor.

A hint of copper wafted in your nostrils. Your face scrunched in confusion. What the hell?

You shook your sweaty palms wildly at your sides, a poor attempt to collect your barrings, and ward off your anxiety. The door is only a sliver opened, a fragment of moonlight shines through.

Something is wrong.

Your open-palm slowly placed itself on the mahogany door, it’s creaking sends a chill down your spine. A count to five, you build up your courage, with an abrupt shove of the door.

Your heart stop and drops, your blood in the veins freeze, as the bloody sight sinks in. A blood-curdling scream escapes you, your throat raw, you felt you could die right there.

John, your sweet John laid in your marital bed, with a bullet hole punctured in the flesh of his chest. Located directly in his heart, you killed him. A gun plopped on the carpeted floor, as his blood soaked the white sheets – leaving his lifeless body.

You crawled onto the bed, clinging your body on his, his blood staining your sinful hands. Begging for him to wake up, but to no avail.

His written note crumbling underneath your knee, catching your attention. Shakily you read it, an inhuman wail leaves your body.

You dug his grave, your plans of a happy ending for Bucky, planted his tombstone.

So what are you gonna say at his funeral, now that you killed him? Here’s lies my first love, a heart broken from deception, and glued from pity. I put the gun to his chest, and his soul left in the dead of the night, here you recite his last words written in inky ichor.

Be happy, I love you.


End file.
